The Tale of the Widow and the Hawk
by Both Artemis and Athena
Summary: There are two things all assassins fear and one thing they know. They all fear the Blak Widow and they all fear Hawkeye. And they know that if the two were to ever meet, no one would live to tell the tale. But something convinces Clint to spare her life one night, and the tale is spun.
1. Chapter 1

**Rabat, Morocco**

**September 17, 2013**

**2300 hours**

Four men sat around a trashcan fire in a dark alley in Rabat, Morocco. Three of them were wanted internationally and one of them was a nervous, highly unwilling trainee. Unbeknownst to them, two other people were nearby, one on a nearby rooftop and one behind the dumpster. And, of course, the two other people had no idea the other was there as well.

Vladimir Zaroff was a deadly, very well paid assassin for the Russian mafia. He had killed political leaders in seventeen countries and an unknown number of citizens and black market dealers. Well, unknown to most of the world.

"_Fifty-seven people, nineteen important ones,"_ the woman whispered silently, loading her gun as she re-assessed her marks. "_High threat."_

Gaston Buteaux, the French assassin wanted in thirty-nine countries for assassinations of mob bosses, mafia leaders, and one vice president. What he was doing being buddies with the mafia assassin from her country, one of the countries that wanted him dead, the woman behind the dumpster could only guess.

"_His only marks are women," _she hissed to herself. She would take pleasure in killing him. He was an old adversary.

David Matthews. An American. A rogue from their SHIELD organization, in fact. This was a rare treat, an American assassin. SHIELD always proved a challenge. The man was remarkably trained, and had killed almost as many as SHIELD's other famous assassin, Hawkeye.

"_Trained by Hawkeye himself," _she murmured. "_This will be interesting."_

Finally, there was Jason Alexander, another American. He had borrowed money from Matthews before Matthews went rogue, and had the unfortunate cure of owing him a lot of money that he wouldn't be able to give. So Matthews had threatened Alexander's family, quietly of course, and roped Alexander into being his new protégé. Alexander had killed only once, but she would not be able to let him live.

"_He knows too much," _she said, and all guilt was erased from her mind. She was the infamous Black Widow; she did not feel guilt.

"God, what is this, the annual assassin's convention?" the man on the roof muttered, looking down at his mark. David Matthews had shown promise in the beginning, but he had never given the man his full trust.

"You know the deal, Hawkeye," the voice of his handler came through the earpiece. "Kill Matthews, try and get Alexander out of there."

"Yeah yeah yeah, I got it Phil," Hawkeye said, annoyance tingeing his tone. He hated rescue missions. Especially when the missions were for someone he didn't know. Most people didn't get to see him in action and live, and he liked it that way. It saved a lot of risk. "But I could have all three of them taken care of, and save us two more future missions. It would be so much easier-"

"Enough, Barton, just do your job and get out of there. It's safer, a concept you'd do good to get familiar with," Phil Coulson chastised.

"Hey, if you're safe, you're not learning," Hawkeye retorted.

"It's 'If you know what you're doing, you're not learning', and you took that damn fortune cookie too far."

"Same thing. Now shut up they said my name," Hawkeye said, grinning down at his mark.

"Great, your ego needs the boost," Coulson said sarcastically.

"You're deadly assassins, who can you possibly have to fear?" Jason said caustically, glaring at the others in the circle.

"There are very, very few I fear, Mister Alexander, rest assured about this," Zaroff growled, taking a sip from the flask in his hand. "But these two…"

"Oh, 'these two'," the highly accented voice of Gaston butted in. "You speak of them as if they work as a team. Phah, if they came into contact they would kill each other!"

"Well, if they were to work together, imagine the devastation it would cause. The Black Widow, she would never defect Russia. So your infamous Hawk would, how you say, have to convert to the dark side."

"Please, gentlemen, he only just left our side of the equation," Matthews sighed, leaning forward. "You see, Jason, there is only one thing an assassin fears, and that's a better assassin. So, naturally, all assassins fear two people. Hawkeye and the Black Widow. In almost every way, the two are exactly the same. Government assassins, following orders to their cold heart's content. Their ledgers are both redder than those embers. Only difference is that Hawk's a man and Widow's a woman. Some may also argue that Hawk's a good guy and Widow's a villain."

The Black Widow scowled momentarily. She followed her own code, did what she wanted. No government got in the way of that, and she did not follow the orders of her own! How dare he suggest that? Killing him just became her top priority. Meanwhile, Hawkeye made a face. He was the good guy? Since when? He would certainly have to work on his reputation.

"Personally, having met the Hawk, I think the Widow would probably win if Gaston's ideas came to reality." Hawkeye narrowed his eyes at the statement, while the Black Widow smirked. "But the thing about these two is this: once you're on their mark, you're dead."

"And yet you've met Hawkeye and you're alive," Jason countered.

"I said I met him, not that I'm his mark," Matthews said.

"You are now," Hawkeye commented quietly.

"Well, how do you know if you're the mark, then?" Jason demanded.

"This is simple," Gaston said loudly. "The Widow's giveaway is this; her perfume. A smell so sweet and indescribable, you will find it nowhere on Earth but her. One sniff and you know she's nearby."

The Black Widow had to bit her lip to keep from laughing. That certainly wasn't the desired effect! She had no idea that the perfume had become her trademark, but she wasn't about to argue it.

"And as for the Hawk-" Zaroff began.

"An arrow, so most say," Matthews finished with a roll of his eyes. "The real way to spot him is to look for the folks in sunglasses and dark jackets talking on earpieces. They're never far behind him. Because the thing about Hawkeye and arrows is, he never misses."

"Good to know," a voice said behind them. All four whipped around to see a man in the shadows, standing with a bow drawn. "And as for arrows, David, it's usually the one on the bow they see."

"Well lookie here, boys, it's the Hawk," Matthews said, standing up and pulling Jason with him. He held the other man in front of him like a human shield. "So, Hawkeye, gonna shoot an innocent, just to get at me?"

"He's no innocent. He's killed," Hawkeye said. "But I'd get a hell of a lot more pleasure out of this if you put him down and considered begging for your life. You two," he added, turning the bow towards Gaston and Zaroff, who were quietly trying to slink away. "Don't move."

At that moment, the wind picked up, nearly blowing out the fire. Carried with it was the sweet, sinful smell of a woman perfume. The assassins all looked to each other in quiet panic. "It's the Widow," Zaroff said, fear evident in his voice.

Gaston looked accusingly at Hawkeye. "What have you done?" he exclaimed. "She'll kill us all!"

"Glad you have faith in me still, Gaston, mon amiee," a voice said, tempting and flirty and smooth as silk. A woman stepped into the firelight, dressed all in black. She wore lethal-looking heels, and around her waist were strapped several even-more-lethal-looking weapons. Her hair was a bright red, falling down her back in long curls. Every man's eyes locked on her as she moved toward them, seemingly without drawing a weapon. The assassin's eyes darted between her and Hawkeye. Gaston began muttering a prayer while Zaroff looked terrified. Matthews still held Jason in front of him as a shield. Jason looked torn between hope and fear, fear they would kill him and hope they would free him to go home.

"Excuse me, miss, but I'm in the middle of a kill here," Hawkeye said, recovering from his shock and finding it replaced with great frustration at being stopped.

"Hawkeye, that's the Widow," Coulson said in the earpiece. "Drop everything and take her out, now."

"Alright, you take him and I'll take these three clowns, then," she said. "I have no problem is you kill Matthews or I do, I get paid either way." She lifted her hands, seemingly in a shrugging, I-don't-care gesture, but he knew better. His bow was immediately on her. "Put 'em down, Widow. I'm killing Matthews and taking Alexander home with me. End of story."

"Take her down, Barton!" Coulson snapped.

"Well, I can't put my weapons away if you don't," she said, and all attention was drawn to the widow's bites on her wrists. Gaston let out a moan. The Black Widow stepped forward, and Hawkeye noticed she was favoring her left leg, though she did a very good job of hiding it.

"This is because I killed your friend, the black haired girl, Giselle, was it not? I am deeply, terribly, sorry. It not-" he was silenced by a shot in the arm. Where the Black Widow had pulled a gun from, no one could tell. He wailed in pain.

"Shut up, Buteaux," she snapped. "Besides, if anyone here would die for me to avenge my friends, if would be you, Hawkeye."

"Barton, she's playing with you. If you don't kill her she'll kill you, and you can be damn sure she won't hesitate!" Coulson shouted. "She's injured, you may never get this chance again, now shoot god dammit!"

Hawkeye smirked at the Widow, acknowledging that he knew how many Red Room operatives he had killed. "Unfortunately, I'm not scheduled to die today. Sorry," he told her.

"Well, these boys are." And, almost faster than he could follow, her widow's bites were in Zaroff and Gaston, killing them. "Now, about the final two. Jason can't live, he knows too much. As for Matthews, we're in agreement? Go ahead, kill him."

"Jason lives. He's an innocent who was forced into this. You can't kill him for that."

Something flashed through the Black Widow's eyes, something like understanding. It was gone a split second before Hawkeye assured himself it was there.

"No," the Widow stated. "For that, I get claim to Matthews."

"Don't think so," Hawkeye said. Just as fast as she had killed the two men, he had loaded an arrow and shot it between her feet. To the Widow's credit, she didn't flinch.

"You missed," she said coyly.

"Weren't you listening?" he asked. "I never miss." He grinned at her as the arrow exploded, enveloping her in a cloud of knockout gas. She shrieked with rage and tried to fire at him, but missed widely. The amount of gas had her down in seconds. While she was unconscious, he made short work of Matthews. When Jason backed away from the bodies, he turned to him and said, "There's a safe house two streets over, it's the one with the flamingos in the yard. Knock three times and state your name. They'll get you home."

Jason just looked at him in awe. "Thank you," he said, before running off. Barton was left alone in an alley with the Black Widow. He stood over her for a moment, looking at her.

"Barton, Fury will have both our heads if you don't kill her now," Coulson said. For the first time since he engaged with the assassins, Hawkeye responded to and acknowledged Phil.

"What if I told him I could bring him in a major future asset?" he asked.

"What?" Coulson asked, confused. "Wait. No. Oh no, no way, Barton. This is Natasha Romanoff, SHIELD's most wanted woman in the world, the definition of 'kill on sight', and you want to bring her in? Do you know how many SHIELD agents she's killed?"

"Fourteen. I know. But think of it. You saw how fast she was. You know how good she is. But you didn't see the look in her eyes. She's not too far gone, Phil. I'm telling you, this will work."

Coulson groaned. "You and the eyes…obviously, you're going to bring her in no matter what I say and attempt to convince SHIELD to hire her. Fine. Whatever. But go to your own damn safehouse, keep her away from me. I suggest you go somewhere SHIELD won't find you easily, because they're going to be pissed beyond reason."

"Quite alright, Coulson. I'll be in…"

"Don't tell me. I don't want to know." Phil's com went to static, telling Hawkeye he had stepped on it to end the conversation. Hawkeye shook his head with a laugh. He knelt down and examined her more closely. As he had guessed earlier, her left ankle was swollen and very obviously broken. He couldn't believe she was walking, let alone acting like she was fine. He narrowed his eyes in grudging respect. Almost as an afterthought, he removed all the weapons he could find on her, and ended up with a pile of way more than would fit on her belt. He shoved them all into his quiver and stood, picking her up.

"Guess we're headed to Budapest, Natasha," he said, starting to walk towards the nearest airport. "We'll be safe there." He pulled out a phone and dialed someone who owed him a favor. It was going to be a long night.

**Well that's about it, my take on how they met. I might continue on to Budapest if anyone wants me to. Hope you liked it. Reviews and constructive criticism very much welcome, and very much appreciated. **

**BA&A**


	2. Chapter 2

**Alright, alright, you get your stinkin' Budapest. Sheesh leave me alone!**

**Nah, just kidding. I was actually really excited to write this and it was pretty fun, too. Thanks to my reviewers, ya'll made my day.**

**Budapest, Hungary**

**September 18**

**0022 hours**

Hawkeye kicked the back door to his safe house open and walked inside, carrying a still-unconscious Black Widow over his shoulder. He dropped her on the couch with about all the gentleness of a dead gorilla and dragged himself to the kitchen, barely mustering the energy to set up the coffee maker. He cursed himself for not having set up one of those fancy ones that you just put the little cup in and out comes your coffee ten seconds later, all hot and bitter and energizing. Then, he made a face at himself for even having that kind of thought. He was so…damn…tired.

It sure took a lot of work to get out of SHIELD's line of sight. Sure, he knew how, but it didn't make it any less of a hassle. It had taken eight favors, nine plane flights, six times going through customs, and countless times lying about why he was carrying a sleeping redhead, all just to get him the relatively-not-far distance from Morocco to Budapest. Well, to get him there without SHIELD being able to track him, at least. Jet lag eventually caught up to even the best.

The coffee maker beeped, snapping him out of his daze. He pulled the pot out and drank the stuff black. Cups were overrated, anyway. Feeling a bit better, Clint smacked himself in the forehead. He had forgotten to put any sort of restraint on the Black Widow. How stupid could he be?

Moving as fast as he could in his current state of exhaustion, he pulled a rope from his bag and tied her wrists together. He was about to tie her ankles when he noticed the broken one again. After digging around for his first aid kit and a few other supplies, he set to work putting a splint on it. Unbeknownst to him, Natasha was awake and watching him, wincing every once in a while but remaining silent.

Try as she might, Natasha couldn't figure out why SHIELD's infamous Hawkeye had brought her here, nor why he was currently tending to the ankle she had broken several days ago. She wasn't afraid, per say. More like extremely wary. This man was the only person in the world who could match her. Her wrists were bound, her ankle was throbbing with renewed vigor at being touched, and all her weapons were gone. Not to mention that her head was still a little foggy from the amount of gas she had inhaled. In other words, if he noticed her soon, she was screwed.

When Hawkeye finished, he sat back on his heels and inspected his work. The splint wasn't quite conventional, made from things he found around the house, but it was definitely functional. He smirked, proud of what he had accomplished.

"Is that seriously a handle from a spoon?"

The voice caught him off guard. He spun around to see the Black Widow, fully conscious, watching him with curious eyes. To his credit, he recovered quickly.

"It's from a spatula, actually," he informed her, looking at her strangely.

The way he was looking at her made her uncomfortable, not that she showed it. "What?" she demanded.

"Of all the questions you could ask, the first thing on your mind is what I set your ankle with?"

"Well, I'm not really in the position to be asking anything else, am I?" she snapped.

He smirked at her and stood up, moving towards the kitchen.

"Where are you going?" Natasha demanded. She pushed herself into a sitting position and attempted to stand.

"Sit back down. I left your feet untied as a courtesy because of your ankle. Don't make me tie them," he sighed. She slowly did as told. The two stared at each other in tense silence for several minutes. Clint didn't like the way she was looking at him; it felt like her eyes were cutting into his soul. It was that day that he learned the true meaning of "a deafening silence."

"I'm Clint," he said finally, breaking the silence.

"What?"

"My name's Clint. Clint Barton. Yours would be?" he asked. Of course, he already knew, but he was attempting to form some sort of trust.

She saw through it immediately. "You're from SHIELD. You've probably known my name since you joined up."

"You have a hell of a lot of names," he admitted. "Which one is the real one?"

Natasha blinked at him. Her real name? If only he knew how complicated that really was. Was it her given name, the one her parents had given her? The name the Red Room gave her? The name on the passport she had with her now? Feeling a surge of defiance toward her supposed 'bosses', she chose the first option. "Natasha Romanoff."

Clint nodded, but didn't say anything more, letting her take the next move.

"Why am I here?" she asked.

"I want to make you an offer," he told her. "SHIELD want's you dead. If you refuse, I'm going to have to kill you, just telling you in advance."

"Well, that certainly sways my decision," she said sarcastically. "What's your play, Barton?"

"Come back to SHIELD headquarters with me. Work for us," he proposed.

She glared at him in outrage. How dare he suggest such a thing? Russia was her home, her country. Her first language was Russian, her heritage (or what she knew of it) was Russian. She was one-hundred percent loyal to Russia. Maybe not to the exact government at the moment, but definitely to Russia. "Never," she growled vehemently.

He sighed. "Look, Natasha, I know how the Russians treat people like you. In case you forgot, I've had Red Room students and graduates as my marks. But there's a difference between them and you. I saw that look in your eyes when I told you Jason was forced into being an assassin. You didn't want this life, you were dragged into it. You have a heart, no matter how locked up it is. They are going to force that out of you and make you a cold-hearted, mindless killer, just like they did to all the other Red Room girls. It's not too late to make a better choice. Come to our side; shoot the bad guys for once, not the good guys."

"Liar!" She shrieked. "I may not have chosen this life, but neither did they. If what I have is a heart, then so did they. I am one of them. My skills may be greater, yes, but this only means that my government will have my back even more. My government is on my side. I do shoot the bad guys. I shoot lying pigs like you!"

He sighed at her words. "I didn't kill Jason. Your government will see that as a failure. Both our governments know we're together right now. They're already going to think you've defected. They're going to kill you if you go back."

"My government would never do this!"

As fate wanted to prove one of them wrong, a bullet came through the window, narrowly missing both of them. "It's your government!" they shouted at the same time.

"It doesn't matter whose government it is, but we both die here if we don't work together," Clint said.

"Agreed. But you need to give me my weapons back for me to fight," she added. He nodded and grabbed his bag. He dumped her weapons on the table. She hurriedly began strapping them on.

"Can you stand?" Clint asked.

"I was last night, was I not?"

"Point taken."

And then the door busted in.

**-The Tale of the Widow and the Hawk-**

The Black Widow and Hawkeye fought back-to back for the first time that day. It wouldn't be the last time they had each other's back in a firefight. They never officially found out whose government had attacked Clint's safe house. Clint always blamed Russia and Natasha would adamantly say it was Uncle Sam. But when it was over, and dead bodies lay strewn all around them, Natasha looked at one in particular for a long time. When she finally turned away, she agreed to Clint's offer. She never told anyone why she stared into the eyes of a dead man for so long.

SHIELD did not welcome Natasha with open arms, by any means. But after years went by, they began to trust her, and eventually accept her as one of their own. She was finally accepted into the tight-knit family that was Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division. Clint became her full-time partner, and they never once failed a mission. Something neither of them would acknowledge began to grow, a strange attraction that led to watching each other when they thought they wouldn't be noticed and touching hands a moment longer than needed when passing a bag of chips (or weapons…). And then, he was called off one day to somewhere to guard something, and she was sent to Russia, of all places. To be honest, the mission was a waste of her talent.

And then Phil Coulson called.

**End of story.**

**Not gonna lie, that was a tough one. But it was a fun challenge, and a pleasure to write. Reviews very much appreciated. Hope you liked it.**

**BA&A**


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